The Mirror slants, distorting Time;
Intrinsic birth, reflecting Him.
Father of my existence.
Silver hair transcending youth
Bleeding my being red;
Drawing lines, counting mine.
Clockwork running the Towers of Time
Ticking to the beat of mine.
Approaching consummation,
Blind. Transfixed on undoing grave.
Agony in indifference,
Unknown to obituary.
The Mirror slants, distorting Time;
the glass inwardly shatters,
future death of Twain.
